


Disappear With You

by startwithsparks



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-19
Updated: 2013-08-19
Packaged: 2017-12-23 23:52:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/932564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/startwithsparks/pseuds/startwithsparks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Arya had accepted Jaqen's offer to join him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Disappear With You

"I want to..." she murmured, her brows furrowing.

She could see his smile fade slightly at her hesitance, and she chewed on the inside of her lip. Her mind went to her mother and brother, who she'd been fighting so hard to get back to, to Sansa, still in King's Landing with the Lannisters. She thought of Gendry and Hot Pie, waiting for her, and Nymeria lost somewhere in the Neck. Her heart ached for everything she'd lost, but deep down she knew that those pieces could never be brought back together the way they had been before. Jaqen was offering her a chance to survive, to live long enough to avenge her family. Gendry only protected her out of some misguided sense of honor and Hot Pie would get them killed sooner than anything. What good would she be if she died at the hands of outlaws or Lannister thugs?

She felt her chest tighten with the knowledge of what she had to do, and she nodded.

The smirk slipped back onto Jaqen's face. "A girl will come?"

"I will."

*

He traded the Lannister armor and the sword at his hip for a new clothes, some food, and a pair of horses. He kept his dagger and gave her one of her own. It wasn't Needle, but it was better than the wooden sword she'd clung to for so many days. She liked having a weapon, knowing that she didn't have to depend on someone else to protect her because she could take it into her own hands. She was also glad to be out of tattered, ill-fitting clothes. Though still dressed as a boy, she knew it was truly safer, for both of them, if no one recognized her as anything other than the man's son, or ward, or even his brother if the mood struck. It was a part she didn't mind playing, no more than she had minded being Arry.

She thought by traveling with him, she might learn some of his tricks, but he wasn't quick to reveal them to her. Still, she found her lessons in little things, and that was enough to keep her satisfied. Each day he had her choose a new name as well so, he said, she would learn to separate herself from Arya Stark and remember the part she was playing instead. It was more difficult than she imagined to think of names that didn't draw her thoughts back to Winterfell, but eventually she started seeing sparks of inspiration all around her. She was Ash one day, then Corbin, Sterling, River, and Aven. She got more daring and more creative as days wore on, but she almost always came back to the process of choosing her name from one of the first things she saw in the morning. That was a challenge in itself, and one that seemed to amuse Jaqen.

He changed his name as well, though only once, only when he changed his face. It wasn't as hard to get used to as she thought it would be, when the man she'd come to know vanished. She missed his eyes and the silver in his hair, but his laugh was still the same as it had always been, and his lips still felt the same against her forehead when he pressed close to her at night. She knew not to grow too fond of his new face, however - because if he could change it so easily before, he would only change it again. But the essence of him remained the same, and to her he was always Jaqen.

She was Wren the day they reached Oldtown. He hadn't explained to her what they were doing here, only that he had a job to do. What lessons they'd begun on the road would continue, and he promised to find a way to keep her occupied when he had to be away. Arya tried to tell herself that she was more concerned about a lapse in her training than she was about Jaqen being gone, and while she'd taken care of herself often enough, she knew (and likely so did he) that she would miss his constant presence. But Oldtown brought with it opportunities, and a good deal more safety than King's Landing once held for her. Here no one knew who she was and no one was looking for her. If she had to play the part of an orphan beggar again, or whatever other part Jaqen tasked her with, she would do so without complaint. There were things she saw and conversations she heard when no one paid her any attention, and she'd already learned that those slips of information were invaluable.

She quickly discovered that Oldtown was nothing at all like King's Landing. It seemed larger than the capital, but only because the Honeywine and the wharfs forced the city to spread out across bridges and canals. There wasn't the stench she remembered from the capital either. Instead, Oldtown seemed to glimmer softly, water reflecting on the pale stone and making the city appear brighter than it would have otherwise. But the streets and canals were also a twisted labyrinth, and more than once she saw alleyways that ended with a swift drop into a river or at the back of another building.

Jaqen navigated the city well enough, though they must have passed a half-dozen taverns and inns before he found one that suited him. Like most of the taverns she'd been in, this one didn't lack for girls fawning over the male patrons, but Jaqen simply paid for their room, for a bath, and a meal, ushered her upstairs. They'd slept next to each other on the ground for enough nights already that sharing a bed seemed a luxury, though he maintained a faint note of modesty in a way she hadn't anticipated - stepping out of the room while she bathed. It was nothing compared to the baths at Harrenhal, but after weeks of scrubbing in rivers and streams even that was an indulgence.

As the days wore on, he grew increasingly more solitary, sending her out to the market or to the docks to listen to the sailors. She could see the concentration settle in his features and knew that he was preparing himself for something important, so didn't question the subtle shift in his mood. Instead, she did her best to be as useful to him as she could, hoping that he would find the time to slip a few more lessons into her daily activities. She saw the point of many of his tasks, and found herself picking up new skills every day.

They built upon the foundation that living in Flea Bottom and stealing through Harrenhal had already taught her. She learned to slip unnoticed through crowds, and swiftly started memorizing the turns and shortcuts through the city. The more comfortable she got with her surroundings the more she seemed to fit in there and the easier it was for her to hide in plain sight. That, she discovered, was one of her more valuable skills, because people rarely thought anything of a child lingering idly nearby. One of the ship captains took a shine to her after his third day stuck in port, and taught her to palm coins and other small objects. She loved the simple slight-of-hand, and it even earned her a smile from Jaqen when she returned that night. Practicing kept her mind busy, and kept her from growing bored as she found Jaqen away more and more often. Whatever he was doing it was steadily occupying more of his attention. But, in Arya's mind, that only meant that he would be finished with it all the sooner.

Then, nearly a week into their stay, he returned late in the evening and abruptly told her it was time they move. He paid their tab and hurried her along, past the stables and through the twisting alleyways. She remembered what Syrio had taught her, about fear, about making herself quiet and still within, and followed him silently through twisting side-streets that she hadn't had time to acquaint herself with yet.

When he finally came to a stop, they were standing in a wynd next to tall building overlooking the Honeywine. He knelt down in front of her under the shadow of the building. "A girl must choose a new name, now."

Arya chewed on her lip.

"Quickly," he pressed.

"Cat," she answered. She'd seen a fair share of cats in Oldtown, it was an innocent enough name, and while he seemed to see through her feigned intentions, he nodded and pressed his lips to her forehead anyway.

"It will do," he said, and pressed his hand to the space between her shoulders. He moved her towards the building, through a heavy wooden door, and inside.

A fire burned warm in the hearth and a woman with soft wisps of white in her long red hair sat next to it, cradling a baby in her lap. She looked up when the door closed, her gaze sweeping over Jaqen to linger a moment on Arya. Shifting the babe, she rose from her chair and wordlessly beckoned them to follow her. At the back of the small kitchen was a narrow staircase, sweeping lazily up past one landing and to a second, where it turned down a short corridor. There were a handful of doors scattered between the landing and the far end of the corridor. Some doors were closed, candles burning in alcoves set in the stone beside them, while others stood open, revealing elaborate rooms, each with a bed and a stone bath.

Near the end of the hallway, the woman produced a key from her pocket and, balancing the babe on her breast, unlocked the door. With a nod towards the pair, she ushered them in and handed Jaqen the key. "I'll speak with you once you've settled her in," she said, and gently closed the door behind her as she left them alone.

The room was much more sparsely furnished than the others, but no less attractive. The bed was covered in linen sheets with a coverlet of gray so dark it was almost black, there were soaps and oils on a wooden stool by the bath, white cushions in the window seat, and an ornate weirwood trunk at the foot of the bed. The room looked freshly made up, even the sheets were neat and smooth on the bed. But Arya didn't need to have Jaqen's mysterious skills to know where they were.

"Are we in a brothel?" she asked, quirking an eyebrow.

Jaqen nodded. "Just so."

"Do I even want to ask what lessons you expect me to learn here?"

Somehow that made a smile crack across his face and he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "Another man must die," he murmured, "so one may be brought back to life. And he will not be able to stay with you. A girl will be safe here, with good food and a warm bed, and a man will visit as often as he can without anyone becoming suspicious to why."

It made sense to her then why he'd chosen this place, easier to pretend he had a penchant for whores than to raise questions about who he had stashed away above a tavern somewhere. The place itself didn't bother her, nor the business conducted there, her momentary concern had only been for what part he meant her to take in it. But Jaqen's explanation soothed her fears and she pressed towards him as easily as ever.

Arya reached out and brushed her fingers playfully along the bump in his nose. "I was just getting used to this face, too."

He laughed softly. "A man's face will be fairer next time, I promise."


End file.
